"It's as if a great bird lives inside the stone of our days and since no sculptor can free it, it has to wait for the elements to wear us down, till it is free to fly." Mark Nepo

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Great Unconformity

I won’t be in the Grand Canyon physically until next week,
but most of the rest of me is already there. As I pack, every item I put in my duffel
reminds me of the first trip. While I work to get things ready here so I can
leave feeling like I’ve left ducks in a row for Walt, I already feel his
absence next to me in the raft. Every story I read about the Canyon and the
Colorado puts me back there. I feel my whole being lighten whenever I’m given a
chance to talk about how much I’ve fallen in love with that place. Memories
from the first trip resurface as I look at pictures, reread my journal,
remember the person who was in this place two years ago.

Big Ed was the Navajo driver who took us from Flagstaff to
Lee’s Ferry. He informed us early on he was Navajo, not Hopi, which turns out
to be an important distinction. His single braid, bandanna headband, and
slightly accented speech were the first indication that I was leaving the world
as I knew it behind. He told us the Colorado River changes people. He joked
that the changes would run deeper than our sunburned faces and blistered feet
and two-weeks-without-a-shower fragrance. I was eager to discover what the
River and the Canyon had for me, how I would be different at Diamond Creek 13
days down river. I had hopes: a deeper understanding of God, my marriage
revitalized, renewed energy to finish a career that was sucking the life from
me.

As it turned out, I was able to retire just a year after
that first trip – three years earlier than we’d originally planned. After two
weeks in the Canyon with no demands other than simply being and enjoying my
experience, I came home knowing deeply that I was not willing to lose any more
time than I absolutely had to. Now, at the end of my first year of retirement,
I know that was one of the wisest decisions I’ve ever made. It’s an interesting
symmetry, two Canyon trips bookending my last year of teaching and my first
year of retirement.

While Walt and I left the Canyon feeling closer than we had
in years, the day-to-day wiped that out pretty quickly. Both of us are at the
beginning of old age, but each is traveling the road very differently. A friend
provided the analogy of a bridge. I’m moving forward, eager to see what’s on
the other side of the bridge in front of me. Walt seems uninterested in what’s
across the bridge, and is content to stay where he is golfing and napping
and watching television. While we decided together that I would do this trip
solo, I worry about crossing one bridge too many. About losing sight of each
other completely.

It seems like I’ve spent my whole life trying to understand
God. The minute I thought I had an answer to a question about God, a new
question would emerge and I would be left more confused than before. I grew up
with a mom who used God as a weapon and taught that God hated liars. I went to
churches where we were taught that following rules and Jesus made God happy. I
joined a cult where I was taught that all the answers to all the questions were
in the Bible. I had questions all along. Questions for which the answers always
seemed weak or wrong. Questions that were taken as doubt and rebellion and
answered with scripture that told me to believe and not question. The questions
would not go away, so I asked them in different places. Buddhism offered
sanctuary and a new way of seeing, being, thinking. I didn’t find answers there,
but I did find new questions that left me feeling more alive and somehow on the
right track.

I figured if I couldn’t find God in the Grand Canyon, I probably
was never going to. Natural beauty, solitude, vulnerability – the perfect
conditions for hearing the God voice. What I found was a realization that the
mystery that is God, and the magnificence that is the Canyon, are both far
beyond my human ability to corral and define and absorb with any level of
complete understanding. The existence of one, the Canyon, seems to me to prove
the existence of the other, God.

While we were in the Canyon, it felt like we were guests in
God’s garden. Evidence of God’s presence was so palpable there was no way to
deny it: the grand vistas, the falling trill of canyon wrens, the bright
tropical blue of the Little Colorado. The rainbow that emerged over the canyon
wall at dusk while we listened to the trip leader tell us stories. The full
moon that lit our nights with the gentleness of candlelight, and the dark nights
that revealed universes beyond comprehension. The River itself carrying us
along like a sentient being whose purpose was to teach us how to be human,
maybe more than human.

If I can’t really grasp the mystery and magnificence of
either God or the Canyon, the next best thing is to spend time with them.

When I decided to go back, I didn’t really think about how I
wanted to be changed this time. I wanted the feelings I had then. I wanted to
experience the Canyon without the distraction of the anxiety inherent in any
new adventure. I wanted to spend time in God’s garden, and maybe, just maybe,
catch a glimpse of his face this time.I
still want those things, but there is something else, too.

About halfway through the first trip we stopped at a place
called Blacktail Canyon. At the back of the canyon there is an exposed place in
the rock called the Great Unconformity. While this unconformity stretches
through much of the Grand Canyon, in this place it’s low enough to touch.
Geologically an unconformity is a place where there is missing time between
layers of rock. The Great Unconformity spans over a billion years. In one of my
favorite pictures from that trip, I’m standing with arms outstretched, hands on
the canyon wall, a billion years unaccounted for in between. I’m grinning at
the camera like that missing time makes sense. The truth is just the opposite.
Like so much of the Canyon and floating the River, the vastness of it, the
aliveness of it, the Great Unconformity is far too much to absorb.

The fact that no one has an answer for why a billion years
are just not there leaves me both unsettled and almost giddy with the mystery
of it.

One of my favorite things to do as we floated endless hours
on smooth water under skies as moody as March was to ask questions of the
guides. Most of those questions were of the “what’s that?” variety. Some were
“who are you?” questions. Some were about the history of the Canyon. All of the
questions had answers, and I found that satisfying, even as those answers
triggered more questions. As I’ve prepared for this second trip, the company
has sent a number of emails inviting me to ask them any questions I might have
about the trip.

The logistical questions were all pretty much answered on
the first trip. I’ve done as much research as is possible, and read every blog
post the rafting company has written. The questions I have about who the guides
and passengers are, I don’t want answers to until I can see for myself.

The most important questions I’m taking to the Canyon can’t
be answered in an email. Certainly not by the employees of the rafting company.
Maybe not at all.

I wonder what’s going to happen to my marriage as we seem to
drift farther apart each day. I wonder what this next year of retirement will
bring, and what might be the best next steps for me. I wonder how I can matter. I wonder what’s going to
happen with my brother as he learns to live with Parkinson’s, and fades away
from me like the last embers of a campfire. I wonder about my relationship with
my other brothers as we all cope with the loss of our middle brother differently, and not always in a
loving way.

I wonder how much time I have left. I wonder about dying and death
and what, if anything, is on the other side.

The poet David Whyte says, “a beautiful question shapes a beautiful
mind. And so the ability to ask beautiful questions, often in very unbeautiful
moments, is one of the great disciplines of a human life. And a beautiful
question starts to shape your identity as much by asking it as it does by
having it answered.”

Soon I will make a second pilgrimage into God’s garden, his
personal cathedral. I take my questions with me, tucked in my bag along with
sunscreen and a map. Instead of looking for answers this time, I will release
those questions, and search for new ones. Questions that will shape my end of
days, my marriage, my relationship with my brothers. Questions that will reveal
my true shape and calling and open my heart to all the uncertainties of life.
Questions that will lead to more incomprehensible questions that will carry me
home.

15 comments:

Hello Deb, I'm smiling at the thought of the adventures you'll have on the river. I believe that not all questions have answers (or at least answers that I can understand). However, like you, I still question and hope for an epiphany. Nature always seems to open me to possibilities. I hope it does the same for you. Be safe but also be bold! I'll be thinking of you - Barb

Honest, open, amazing as always. I thought you should be leaving soon. May the canyon answer some of your questions, and perhaps bring up new ones. Regardless, remain true to yourself and open to the universe. Sending you love and prayers for safe travels, whatever the mode of transportation you are using. Can't wait to hear all about the adventure!

You ask deep rhetorical questions, and I know you will find the answers you seek to life's mysteries. I am also sending you lots of love as you begin this next exciting journey. I'm looking forward to hearing about the fruit of your travels. :-)

Seems like a solo trip may be one way to arrive at your wished solution. Whathappens after we leave our place on earth means we reurn to our beginning point. We are made from particles and we are a part of everything both before and after life. It may be that you are already around God everywhere but you have decided God has a special location. Perhaps that is what you will discover. Every leaf . every rock and allthings are the power of God and can be felt. Buddy and I hope you discover how close you already are to what you seek. We often talk about our sensing that devine power. We feelwhen we sense it. We talk about it. Have a very safe journey. Feel the power. It is in your sixth sense.

I like that in the midst of all the changes in your life you seem to be centered. I wish that for myself every day and have a great deal of trouble unhooking myself from everyone else's life path. Have a wonderful trip!

I remember being a child walking in the woods with my Dad. We were camping as a family and it was October. The campground was very quiet because it was the end of the season. It was so beautiful with the leaves changing. Dad said he felt closer to God that day in the woods than in any church he had ever been in. I hope you find answers in your trip and feel the love of God also. I love having questions...it will keep me from being a "know it all"! Be safe and enjoy!

Oh, friend, I am so excited for you. I am so excited that you have questions to which there are no answers. I know how scary and uncertain they feel, but I also know what amazing answers that you cannot even imagine with your human mind lay on the other side of them. I cannot wait to know what you learn in this next journey that you are bravely taking alone. I know how scary alone feels, but I also know that without your wisdom and guidance, I would never know my own strength or that I could fathom alone. And, now, with tears in my eyes, I must go be amazing, just like you will be. Hugs and soooo much love.

Quoting Linda Reeder here: "Like that canyon you love, you are the deepest of thinkers." You constantly astonish me with the depth of your understanding, the openness of your sharing, and the beauty and power of your words. Oh yes, and your eagerness to throw yourself off perfectly adequate solid ground in order to discover more about yourself. As I said to a (much younger than me) woman at the gym today, "When I grow up, I want to be like you."

It's been a few years since I visited your site. Somehow I lost track of you when I took a writing hiatus, then moved to a different platform and a new project. I've thought of you, off and on through the years, wondering how the teaching was going, whether you finally got to retire, and imagining your continued joy at your renewed relationship with your brothers.

I'm sorry to learn of your concerns about your marriage, and understand, having experienced something like that myself in the last few years. Life does seem to hand us the unexpected, doesn't it?

But your strength and perseverance, your finding joy and love in the ancient rocks and mysteries of that worn rent in the Earth that awes all who see it, your ability to relax into the comfort of darkening skies or Toby's companionship, and your courage in making a new friend, one who undoubtedly needed you as much or more than you needed her, inspires me.

Thank you for sharing your story. I pray you find more blessings than loss as you wend your way through the trials of grief and letting go.